


The City in Which I Loved You

by annabelolee



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: College AU, KuroKen - Freeform, M/M, Mutual Pining, Nekoma Week 2020, alternate universe - poetry, kenma's real lonely we been knew, kuroo yeets off to la, li-young lee, this one be real sad
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-22
Updated: 2020-08-22
Packaged: 2021-03-07 01:55:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26049136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/annabelolee/pseuds/annabelolee
Summary: For Kenma, there's a lot to learn about growing up. There's just something about sitting alone in the airport express train at five in the morning that leaves him completely lost.For Kuroo, there's a lot to learn about a new start. There's just something about finding comfort in an old familiar face that lives five thousand miles away.In which Kuroo starts college in a foreign country and Kenma tries to make it work.A going-away, college AU fic paired with and inspired by poetry written by Li-Young Lee.
Relationships: Kozume Kenma/Kuroo Tetsurou
Comments: 3
Kudos: 14





	The City in Which I Loved You

**Author's Note:**

> This is my contribution for Nekoma Week 2020! This is going to be on the sadder side of Kuroken (so, like, a complete 180 from my Bokuaka) so keep that in mind!! Don't be TOO sad because I guarantee a happy ending!  
> Now that that's out of the way, have fun! :D

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s the night before Kuroo’s flight to Los Angeles. Kenma has a lot of words he still wants to say.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 1 - prompt: challenge/college

_“Lie still now_

_while I prepare for my future,_

_certain hard days ahead,_

_when I’ll need what I know so clearly this moment.”_

Kenma’s not a romantic.

Between the two of them, it’s always been Kuroo- Kuroo with the hand-written confessions, Kuroo with the chocolates and candy in his locker, Kuroo with the blatant declarations that he loves Bokuto while the latter thumps him on the head.

If one of them is to say that they love the other, it will definitely be Kuroo first. In fact, Kenma’s pretty sure Kuroo’s going to say it anytime now. Kuroo’s just waiting for the right moment before he wraps those lanky arms around Kenma’s neck and screams the overused words into the air, the sound vibrating off the walls as Kuroo makes his confession heard. He’ll make a scene out of it, grab the attention of everyone in close proximity when he _really_ doesn’t need to do that, and-

Maybe that’s why Kenma finds that he’s not ready for Kuroo to leave.

He's been hiding it and keeping it to himself for so long, ignoring the way his heart had fluttered so desperately whenever he found Kuroo waiting for him in the mornings before going to school together or when Kuroo had come over in the late afternoons to play various video games with him. He's been hiding it this entire summer, their last summer, knowing that if he dares say anything he could just possibly screw it all up. He's a coward and a stupid one, too, because as much as he tries to convince himself that this _crush_ could possibly just be childish infatuation bloomed way too late, he can't shake off the sore fondness and genuine appreciation for the dark-haired boy he knows so well.

As Kenma leans back on the bed and watches the other pack, shoving familiar sweaters and jeans into a dusty suitcase, his chest aches for reasons he has yet to fully understand.

 _Leaving is hard_ , he decides, scanning the bedroom still filled with the little trinkets and posters that he’d gotten used to over the past ten years. The room is just the same as it is any other day that Kenma comes over for sleepovers or just to hang out, nothing misplaced or missing other than the clothes in the closet, the books from the shelf, and the aching hole in Kenma’s heart. In the late evening, the room suddenly looks too wide, too large to be a home Kenma’s found himself familiar with even though nothing has really changed. The sunlight blares in at an angle that illuminates all the dust in the room, white specks dancing in the air as they make their slow descent to the carpeted ground and the inside of Kuroo’s suitcase. Kuroo hums to himself while he packs, his frame breaking the quiet atmosphere every once in a while.

It’s haunting in its own sort of way, and Kenma finds that he’s only the tiniest bit afraid.

That’s why the question comes unexpectedly.

“You gonna miss me?”

Kenma snaps his gaze over to Kuroo, who’d stopped packing and is leaning against the window, arms crossed and watching Kenma with that nasty smirk of his. He arches an eyebrow at Kenma’s silence. “Is that a yes?”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“Didn’t have to.” Kuroo walks over and taps him on the nose. Kenma recoils. “I know exactly what you’re thinking. ‘ _My best friend is sailing across the high seas and abandoning me in this hellhole and I am going to_ miss _him.’_ Am I right?”

“What do you think? Of course not.”

“You’re sad, though.” Kuroo drops to a crouch as he tilts his head upwards, staring up into Kenma’s eyes. There’s that hint of concern again, the way his eyes soften unhelpfully at the rim and the corners become something less of harsh lines and more of a round, curious sort of interest. Kenma doesn’t like it right now, not when his best friend is crouched in front of him and poking at his patience with his silly questions. “Usually you’d help me pack. What’s the deal this time?”

Kenma snorts. “You’re overanalyzing my actions, Kuroo. I’m just tired.”

“Your actions are _asking_ to be analysed.” Kuroo says unamusedly. When Kenma doesn’t respond, Kuroo reaches out with his finger and prods Kenma in the knee. Kenma stares. _He needs to cut his nails-_

“Say, hey, Kenma, will you miss me?”

“This question again.” Kenma sighs. “When are you going to-“

“Will you miss me?” Kuroo repeats, but his eyes remain on Kenma’s face, searching the other’s for reciprocation of some sort, a response to the same four words he’d been repeating to Kenma every day for the past three months. He looks suddenly desperate, as if Kenma’s answer is all that he really needs to hear and he looks _demanding,_ much to Kenma’s dismay.“Answer me.”

“You’re an idiot, you know? An annoying idiot, _please stop with the-_ ”

“Will you miss me?”

This time, when he asks the question again, it’s completely different. Gone is the silly undertone to the words that Kuroo repeats after practice every school day. Gone is the wide, wide smirk as Kuroo persists with the question. Instead, the atmosphere breaks and Kenma finds himself lost in the other’s eyes, staring into a familiar yellow that’s suddenly heart-achingly nostalgic. The light from the window beside them basks Kuroo’s face in soft gold, all the sharp lines from Kuroo’s face melting into something gentle, something that makes Kenma want to reach out and touch him-

Kenma freezes.

“Don’t look at me like that,” He finally says, ignoring the way Kuroo gawks at his comment. “It’s creepy. It makes me want to throw the lamp at your face.”

Kuroo arches an eyebrow. “Aw, are you being sappy, now? Is this how Kenma shows his love and appreciation? I’m very grateful.”

“The night before is always the saddest,” Kenma shrugs. “I can’t help it. Sometimes, I just _really_ need to chuck a lamp at your face.”

He never answers the question, Kenma realizes, but it’s enough, because Kuroo breaks into a giant, toothy grin, slapping Kenma’s knee before standing up and heading to the other side of the room to continue packing. Kenma stands up, too, following him over and peeking into the closet.

“Which of the sweaters will you be bringing?”

Kuroo hums, thinking as he grabs his socks from the drawer. “Can you take the green, blue, and beige ones?”

Kenma pulls the sweaters off the hangers before spotting another sweater hidden behind the row of hoodies. His fingers twitch and he reaches out and takes it, hanger and all, clearing his throat to get Kuroo’s attention. Kuroo looks up.

“You’re not going to bring this one?” Kenma asks, holding up the sweater for the other to see.

It’s an old sweater that Kuroo won one year at a fair. It’s stupid, a dark red maroon colour with giant white words on the top right corner saying some French phrase that’s really anything but poetic (they searched), but Kuroo’s always been so keen about it and he loves it above every other sweater he has. Sure enough, the neck of the sweater is frayed and the hem is rolled up, curling from being washed too often. The colour’s slightly faded, the maroon looking more dusty than anything, and Kenma’s pretty sure there’s a hole in the sleeve.

Kuroo walks over and takes the sweater into his hands. He purses his lips, turning it over as he considers it, before shaking his head.

“You should have it,” Kuroo says.

Kenma stares. “I have sweaters-“

“No, no,” Kuroo’s already heading over to Kenma’s bag, dumping the sweater inside before turning around and grinning. “What’s with the face? It’s not like I’d be wearing it over there.”

Kenma freezes, the room suddenly chillingly cold as he asks, “You won’t?”

 _That’s not right. That’s not_ pattern _. It’s too early to be making these decisions- Why’s he changing it up?!_

“Of course not,” Kuroo scrunches his nose, frowning at the sweater peeking out of Kenma’s bag. “I’m not going to wear that to _college_ , Kenma.”

 _That’s right._ Kuroo’s heading off to college, a place and name so unfamiliar to Kenma that he always has to take double takes and focus twice as hard whenever Kuroo talks about Los Angeles. _He’s starting new and that sweater is just too unbearable for him. A burden, really._

_Just like me._

_That’s why he’s giving it to me._

Kenma suddenly feels bitter, throwing Kuroo’s sweaters on the bed before picking the maroon sweater out of his bag. He shoves it at Kuroo, who stumbles to catch it. Kuroo makes a confused noise in his throat.

“I don’t want to wear something you consider unbearable.” _I don’t want to be someone you consider unbearable._

Kuroo frowns. “I don’t consider it unbearable.”

“Then why aren’t you taking it with you?”

“Because I love the sweater and I think it belongs with all the other things I love, doesn’t it?”

“What the fuck-?!”

He says it so matter-of-factly that Kenma can’t think of an appropriate response for it. He stands and he gawks at Kuroo who stares back, face completely innocent as he holds the sweater loosely in his fingers. Kenma finds that he can’t do anything but stay completely rooted to his spot, running the sentence over and over in his mind, almost daring himself to believe it, because Kuroo could just be _saying_ it like people do _absentmindedly_ and not really _mean it-_

Kuroo shrugs, turns, and puts it back into Kenma’s bag. He zips it closed. Kenma’s breath hitches.

“I don’t want to destroy it over there,” Kuroo continues, straightening up and throwing his socks into his suitcase. “Heard it gets pretty messy sometimes in those parties. Don’t want to ruin it.”

“You don’t have to give it to me.” Kenma interrupts. “You can just leave it here.”

“What’s the point of a favourite sweater if no one’s going to wear it?” Kuroo asks, as if giving your best friend your favourite sweater in the whole world is a completely normal thing to do. “Besides, I know _you’ll_ wear it, won’t you? You won’t disappoint me!”

Kenma sighs. “You tire me out all the time, Kuroo.”

Kuroo cackles, tilting his head back as he digs through the last of his clothes. When he turns around, he’s holding a thick black coat draped casually over his arms. He’s got a fond smile, his features unnaturally but beautifully soft, and he grins like they’ve got all the time in the world.

Kenma thinks he looks beautiful.

_That stupid idiot. Rooster-haired piece of shit._

_Beautiful._

_I’m going insane._

“I love you too, Kenma.” Kuroo says.

The wind is knocked out of Kenma’s chest in an instant.

Kuroo falls asleep with his back pressed against Kenma’s own, face turned towards the wall and his painful snoring prominent against the quietness of the night, only interrupted by the occasional vehicle outside and the sound of the fan whirring in the room. Kuroo’s neighbour is hosting a party, loud music thumping through the walls and the bass booming its repetitive beat into the air of the Kuroo’s bedroom.

Kenma’s eyes are wide open, his face turned to the rest of Kuroo’s room- the closet, the bookshelf, the tables, and he takes in the sight of it all: the empty closet and bookshelves, the many suitcases that lay unceremoniously strewn on the ground, the volleyball under the desk, the maroon sweater he knows is safely inside his bag.

He can’t fall asleep, no matter how hard he tries, and he’s given up after a while, turning to just staring at and memorizing Kuroo’s room while the dark-haired boy sleeps soundly next to him. It’s unsettling, he thinks, slowly yet desperately remembering the way Kuroo’s room is arranged, how Kuroo’s room _feels_ while he’s still there next to him, how it will feel the days and weeks and months from now when it’s empty and he’s happy in Los Angeles. He doesn’t remember his life before Kuroo, doesn’t really remember what it feels like to be alone. He hasn’t had to worry about that in a long, long time, and now that the reality that Kuroo’s going away is sinking in, Kenma finds it hard to crack careless jokes about being alone.

“ _I am making use_

_of the one thing I learned_

_of all the things my father tried to teach me:_

_the art of memory._ ”

His eyes sting. His nose is going numb.

He forces himself not to cry.

_Now’s not the time._

Not in this room, not in the place where they’ve shared a lot of good memories and meaningful moments with each other. The same room that Kenma had to force himself into when they were eight, the same room where Kuroo had whispered to Kenma his stupid jokes about school during late-night calls sometime way past midnight. This room is so _alive_ , crowded to the brim with vivid images Kenma treasures, the same ones he wishes he never did because Los Angeles is half the world away and he’s not sure how he and Kuroo are going to make it.

What’s worse, Kuroo doesn’t know about any of this.

Kuroo’s clueless and Kenma wants to tell him, wants to grab his face and hit it repeatedly on the table for being so dense. He wants to spill _everything_ , the feelings he'd been harbouring for the past year and the confessions he'd dared to draft that he only ends up throwing away because he's scared Kuroo will turn him down. He wants to be completely honest, completely open with the other, but through seeing the way Kuroo's so excited to go to Los Angeles and the way he's so diligently hardworking Kenma knows that the confession will be nothing but a lifetime's moment-worth of regret. He doesn't want to send Kuroo off with a sour mood, a bad confession, and an awkward farewell where neither of them will be brave enough to message or speak to the other. 

He's worried about unreciprocated feelings. He's worried.

Kenma tucks his hands between his thighs and exhales into the night. The bass from next door booms. Kuroo snores.

_He’s going to miss him._

“ _I am letting this room_

_and everything in it_

_stand for my ideas about love_

_and its difficulties.”_

Kuroo stirs, his snoring freezing mid-beat as his arm twitches. Kenma feels him drift into consciousness, the boy beside him humming softly in his throat before shuffling and turning around to stare at the back of Kenna’s head. A hand reaches out to prod Kenma’s ear.

Kenma clicks his tongue. “I don’t understand how you do it.”

“Do what?”

“Wake up in an instant, right after your snores, too.”

Kuroo snorts. “Your thoughts were too loud. I can’t sleep with the booming bass of your overthinking.”

“That’s impossible.”

“What are you thinking about?” The ear prods are back.

Kenma turns around to face him, noticing the way the other’s eyes light up in expectancy. It’s the hopeful expression that stops Kenma from spilling everything right there.

Some part tells him that if Kenma is to admit anything now, Kuroo would never take it with ill intention. In fact, he’s completely safe, but Kenma finds it _silly._

It’s silly of him to tell Kuroo these stupid thoughts, these stupid attachment issues, his stupid separation anxiety, so he fights it and shrugs.

“Nothing. You should go back to sleep. You have a long flight tomorrow.”

Kuroo scowls. “I can sleep on the flight. Tell me what’s wrong.”

“It’s nothing,” Kenma says flatly. “Go to sleep, and stop kicking me while you’re at it.”

“You’re the one who wouldn’t let me sleep on the couch.”

“You’re the one who got rid of the futon.”

Kuroo grins. “That I did.”

“ _Your scent,_

_that scent_

_of spice and a wound,_

_I’ll let stand for mystery._ ”

“Hey, Kenma,” Kuroo starts again after a brief pause. “Our ten years’ worth of friendship isn’t for nothing, you know.”

Kenma freezes, eyes slowly focusing on Kuroo, who’d adjusted his position and turned to Kenma to face him fully. “What do you mean?”

“I know something’s bothering you,” Kuroo says, voice so even it leaves Kenma’s heart hammering painfully in his ears. “And it probably has something to do with me, judging by the way you can’t meet my eyes for even five seconds and the way you’re a lot less talkative tonight.”

Kenma sucks in a breath from his teeth. “How-?”

“But I’m not gonna ask.” Kuroo finishes. “If you’re not going to tell me, I figure it’s something you want to keep to yourself. So I’m not going to push...”

 _Thank God,_ Kenma exhales, shutting his eyes to catch a few more hours of sleep.

“...but I want you to tell me before I leave tomorrow morning.”

Kenma’s eyes fly open. Kuroo’s still staring unabashedly, his lips pulled into a relaxed grin. The moonlight from the window above them glazes over his eyes, bringing out the sharp yellow and pulling Kuroo’s expression into something glorious. With their close proximity, Kenma can smell the scent of dollar-store shampoo from Kuroo’s hair and the familiar detergent his family uses on the blankets and his clothes. He subconsciously takes in the memory of his best friend lying on his side beside him, a familiar face he’s grown to recognize after a decade spent together. The air is heavy with familiarity and words unspoken and Kuroo waits expectantly.

Kenma’s not sure if the tight clawing in his chest and the stinging behind his eyes have anything to do with the open window or if they’re even remotely related to the boy next to him.

In truth, he wants to tell Kuroo that he’d miss him. Kuroo’s an ass 120% of the time and Kenma constantly wonders how he’s been able to put up with the other all the way ‘til graduation (sometimes, he even marvels at his own patience), but not having the other next to him every day is a different experience altogether.

It’s not like they haven’t spent days away from the other. It’s just that those days were always short and both had easy distractions with them to forget about the dull aches in their hearts, and this time, the days would be much longer. Kenma’s not going to go overseas, no matter how much Kuroo persists, and Kuroo’s definitely going to finish his scholarship in Los Angeles. They would be talking years apart and from the painful hammering of Kenma’s chest, Kenma can tell that it would probably be a lot harder than either of them make it to be.

Kuroo would inevitably make new friends and Kenma’s not known to wait forever.

_“And one day, when I need_

_to tell myself something intelligent_

_about love,_

_I’ll close my eyes_

_and recall this room and everything in it:”_

“I guess I’m just not prepared for it.” Kenma finally says.

The words are tossed mindlessly into the dark air of the evening, in pace with the breathing of the boy in front of him. The other stills and stares, blinking in time to the loud song of the cicadas outside his window and the steady bristle of the wind in the trees.

It’s a while before he reacts, and when he does, he doesn’t hesitate to reach out to pull Kenma closer and bury his face in the other’s hair. He exhales deeply, a sound tinged fully and completely with sadness before he thumps Kenma on the head and says, “Sap.”

Kenma snorts. “Get off of me, you stupid pig.”

Despite his words, Kuroo doesn’t stir, and Kenma makes no move to push him off.

It’s that moment that Kenma knows the full extent of his longing and what missing someone feels like.

He finds it difficult to fall asleep all night, his cheek squashed uncomfortably against Kuroo’s chest as the other snores loudly without restraint. In the early morning when the sun hasn’t even risen yet, the horizon tinged with a soft yellow, he finds it difficult to smile when Kuroo drags his suitcase out the door, laughing when one of the wheels gets caught in the doorway. He finds it difficult to cry, to laugh, to say anything, really, when they sit down on the airport express train at four thirty-two, just the two of them in the sunlit car as the train makes its way through the city. He finds it difficult to listen to Kuroo’s jokes as he approaches the departures terminal, bag strap clutched tightly in his hands as he fiddles with his boarding pass.

They exchange a long and silent hug in the empty airport right outside the terminal, under the pitiful stares of strangers scurrying off to board their flights. ‘I’ll miss you’s are exchanged into each other’s shoulders, the taller of the two adding a heartfelt thump to the other’s back.

The journey of a travelling friend is always bittersweet and it leaves Kenma rooted to his spot, unable to spare a smile as Kuroo waves excitedly, promising he’ll message Kenma as soon as he can, before disappearing into the terminal.

_I love you._

The eight-letter phrase is tossed into the air as Kenma watches him go, the familiar backpack and black hair here for a second before it vanishes behind the hazy glass doors.

Kenma finds that he never really got to tell Kuroo what he wanted to say after all.

He feels hollow, Kenma realizes as he counts silently to five at the gate before turning away. His chest feels like it’s been smashed open and scraped clean, with only the dull thudding of his heart to remind him that he’s still breathing. He feels it in his entire body, the way he staggers through the train doors and has to hold a metal railing tightly to steady himself. Passerby ask him if he’s okay, adults guiding him upright gently as others reprimand him and remind him to drink water. Kenma agrees half-heartedly, his mind and soul still scattered elsewhere.

It’s difficult to breathe now, Kenma notices as he sits down in the airport express train, now littered with strangers just like him who’d sent their loved ones off at five in the morning on their early flights. He’s never felt like this, ever, and he’s unsure of how exactly to deal with it because he can’t run from this, no, not anymore.

It isn’t until Kenma rubs his eyes that he realizes he’s crying.

_“it had something to do_

_with death . . . it had something_

_to do with love.”_

Kenma’s not a romantic.

He’s just a little, _little_ bit heartbroken that Kuroo’s leaving.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YOO thanks for reading this!! That was a LOT of single character dialogue and thoughts so I'm SORRY, but I really hope you enjoyed it!!  
> Do note that I switched the tense of the word 'Love' in the title of the story as it'll fit this one more this way- you'll see!  
> Kuroken is probably one of the ships that I struggle writing with because their dynamic is just SO COOL and it's just so dIFFICULT IT REALLY, REALLY IS.  
> But yes, I hope this was good! Kudos and comments are very much appreciated YAYAY!  
> See you guys tomorrow! ;D


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